Phoenix Wright and the Case of the Charlatan Chef
by Aaron D
Summary: Phoenix defends a man accused of killing a renowned chef, but with Maya as the prosecution's key witness, will Nick have what it takes to face her on the stand and save his client?
1. Prologue

**Phoenix Wright And The Case of The Charlatan Chef**

**by**

**Aaron D. Roberts**

Maya Fey was clearly not happy.

While the girl's expressive face always clearly illustrated her current state of mind, it was her twitching fingers that betrayed her discomfort now. They danced pointlessly across the potently polished tabletop, keeping a swift rhythm in time with the slower but regular movements of the rest of her body. While her right hand kept time on the table, Maya's left crept up to her temple and started winding a stray lock of hair around its index finger, seemingly independent of her conscious will.

"Would you calm down?" her beleaguered but brilliant boss, defense attorney Phoenix Wright, asked sharply. "You're acting like you've never eaten in a restaurant before."

"I haven't," she said coyly. "Not in a restaurant where you don't order at a counter and get your own drink out of a soda fountain, anyway." With this, Maya started glancing around to see if anyone was staring at her. "Plus, everyone thinks I'm dressed funny. I just know it."

After a moment's consideration, Phoenix realized that this might indeed be a valid concern. Over the last year and more, the journeyman lawyer had grown accustomed to Maya's channeling attire, which might indeed seem out of place to those unacquainted with the girl or her school of discipline. Still, despite the probability that his assistant was correct, Phoenix felt an irrational need to protect her feelings. "I wouldn't worry about it," he said. "This is what you wear in the courtroom, isn't it? If you're not underdressed in there, you can't be in here, either." He carefully avoided mentioning whether or not he considered her ensemble appropriate for District Court, although to his recollection, no one else had commented on its suitability before.

Pouting, Maya stared at the menu. "I don't even know what to order...ooh, they have hamburgers! Nick, can I get a---"

"Absolutely not," Phoenix said firmly. "This is one of the finest establishments in Metro City. We're both going to have something fancy, for once."

"Are you sure, Nick? Everything else on the menu looks like it costs five times as much as the hamburger."

"No hamburgers!" Phoenix pointedly tapped his own menu. "And don't worry about the prices. Now that our last client has finally paid his fees, we can afford to live high on the hog. I've already paid the rent on the office, on my apartment, and all the bills, and we've still got a lot of money left over. I don't think Wright & Co. has ever been this flush with cash."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Maya asked, hiding her face behind the menu.

"I don't think so," said Phoenix, sliding a small piece of paper across the table.

"Really? You're not maybe overlooking some incredibly overworked associate who might be in need of some regular financial compensation?"

Phoenix tapped the slip of paper. "Nope. Pretty sure."

"Nick, I can't believe that you forgot to pay me _again_---" Maya began, before setting eyes on Phoenix's arm, now fully stretched across the table, and the substantial check upon which his fingers now rested. Snatching it from his grasp, she unfolded it in front of her eyes, which widened as she read the exact amount. "Um, this is too much. Way too much."

"Like I said, Wright and Co. has more money than it knows what to do with. And I won't even make you pay for your own dinner." Phoenix looked around, changing subjects quickly. "By the way, you did a terrific job filing last week."

Maya scratched her head. "Okay."

"Sorry if that threw you for a loop. By talking about the office, I can now write this dinner off our taxes as a business expense." Phoenix chuckled. "Sometimes I envy those prosecuting attorneys. With those big, fat government salaries, they can afford to eat out like this every night. Not to mention those flashy outfits. I wish I could buy a whole bunch of frilly lace cravats. Don't you think I get tired of wearing these boring old red ties every day?"

Maya placed a finger to her temple thoughtfully. "I thought cravats were part of the prosecutor's uniform. Required attire, so to speak."

Thinking for a moment, Phoenix said, "No, I don't think it's required. Prosecutor Payne never wears one, does he?" He shook his head. "It's not important. What is important is that you and I enjoy ourselves this evening. If you're lucky, I just might take you out for drinks and dancing later."

Maya blushed. "Nick, I'm only eighteen. I'm not allowed to drink yet. Legally, anyway."

Phoenix shrugged. "Well, dancing, anyway."

Before the young attorney could even consider allowing himself to feel awkward, the waiter arrived. "Are you ready to order, sir?"

"I think so," Phoenix replied. "We'll start with a bottle of sparkling water and a fruit and cheese platter. For the main course, I'll want the lobster-and-crab pasta with a dinner salad."

The waiter retrieved the requested bottle of water from a nearby station and began pouring it into the long-stemmed glasses. "Excellent choice, sir. That's our house specialty. And what will your date be having?"

Neither Maya nor the waiter noticed Phoenix choking on his water at this last statement. Instead, Maya's face merely glowed with enthusiasm as she tossed her menu into the waiter's hand. "I'll have the forty-ounce porterhouse steak, rare, with two twice-baked potatoes."

Phoenix's eyes widened. _A forty-ounce steak?_ While it appeared that the girl had taken his speech about price being no object to heart, there was no way someone of Maya's delicate stature could finish a hunk of meat that size.

Forty-five minutes later, when she had proven Phoenix completely wrong, the young lawyer still had trouble believing his eyes. One and three-quarters of the two potatoes had vanished into Maya's seemingly bottomless gullet, while nothing remained of her barely-cooked steak but the T-shaped bone. Meanwhile, Phoenix himself had not quite finished half of his pasta, and had already requested a to-go box from the waiter.

"I am literally amazed," Phoenix said.

"Oh, please, Nick. Don't tell me you've never eaten a steak before."

Phoenix leaned on his elbows. "I've never eaten a _forty-ounce_ steak before, if that's what you mean."

"It wasn't that hard, Nick, I---" Maya stopped speaking abruptly as an unpleasant noise emanated from her tummy. "Um, you'd better excuse me a second." Without another word, the young woman leapt to her feet and dashed towards the hall in the back of the restaurant. Phoenix smiled, laughing inwardly. No doubt Maya had to check her makeup or had noticed a hair out of place and couldn't rest until it was tucked back in. Ahh, the mysteries of the ladies' room. _Those crazy gals and their odd habits._

The waiter sidled up to the table, interrupting his ruminations. "Would you care for some dessert this evening, sir?"

"No thanks," Phoenix said. "I didn't leave any room. I'll take the check whenever you get a second." Suddenly, a large crash sounded from the back, nearly causing Phoenix to jump out of his chair. "What was that?"

It might have been Phoenix's imagination, but the waiter looked distinctly uncomfortable, perhaps more at his question than at the noise itself. "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing of note, sir. Probably one of the chefs dropped a platter in the kitchen."

"Okay," Phoenix said, letting the matter drop. He took another sip of his sparkling water and waited for Maya to return to the table. 7:22 PM. What was taking her so long, anyway? She didn't need to spend half an hour putting on makeup just to impress him. They saw each other practically every day, after all.

By the time Phoenix had finished the rest of his water, he was starting to get annoyed. No amount of makeup or hair maintenance should be taking this long. He checked his watch for what seemed like the fiftieth time. 7:34 PM. While he'd never barge into the women's restroom on his own, Phoenix was now strongly considering asking one of the other women in the establishment to go check on Maya. Before the lawyer could act on this impulse, however, another loud noise erupted from the back of the restaurant. The first bang was followed by a second, smaller jangle. A few seconds later, a piercing scream echoed through the environs. It had a familiar ring to it. In fact, it almost sounded like---

"Maya!" Phoenix darted from his seat towards the back of the restaurant. While he was clearly the fastest to react to the disturbance, he saw that other patrons and members of the staff were beginning to conglomerate. as well. Entering the hallway felt much different than being in the main dining area. The ceiling was far lower, for one thing, and the wall on Phoenix's right was covered in frosted glass, rather than the soft gold-beige mix that dominated the rest of the building's interior. Phoenix could see the door to the restrooms at the other end of the hallway, and Maya herself was perhaps halfway down the corridor, slumped against the wall.

"What's wrong?" Phoenix demanded, crouching next to his young assistant. "What happened?"

Refusing to meet his eyes, Maya stared straight ahead, towards the frosted glass. "He's dead, Nick. He killed him. I saw it."

"What?" Rising to his feet, Phoenix saw that someone was standing stock-still behind the frosted pane of glass. The silhouette had its right hand at its forehead, while the other was not currently visible, no doubt hidden in front of or behind the man's torso. "Stay here," he cautioned Maya. "And don't worry. Everything's going to be all right."

Maya murmured a quick affirmative, no doubt still somewhat taken aback by what she had witnessed -- or seemed to have witnessed, the impartial attorney in his mind corrected. After shouting for someone to telephone the police, Phoenix quickly searched for a way into the next room, but there seemed to be none directly at hand. Rounding the corner, he saw a hinged door at the end of the next hallway and quickly went in. It was only seconds before he spied the body.

The room behind the door was clearly the kitchen, as the stovetops, ovens, food preparation counters, and sinks suggested. A small window in the southeast corner of the room allowed prepared meals to be transported to the waiting staff, while a huge walk-in refrigerator dominated the southern wall. The eastern wall, of course, was made of the frosted, translucent glass which Phoenix had seen in the hallway, possibly to give customers a chance to view the cooking process firsthand.

The victim was lying face down on the tiled floor, his arms splayed in opposite directions. From his attire, Phoenix judged him to be one of the cooking staff. The only blemish on the man's all-white attire was the slowly spreading blood stain towards the center of his back. A long knife protruded from the wound, and Phoenix could tell it was one of the knives generally used for far less violent purposes in the kitchen, though he didn't know enough about the culinary arts to determine exactly what kind of knife it was. Although the knife was long, it didn't seem to have penetrated too deeply into the victim's body.

"I didn't do it."

Phoenix whirled around, having forgotten that there was still someone living in the room. The speaker was a short man, perhaps and head and a half shorter than Phoenix himself, although his body was proportioned well enough that he did not seem stout. He had a head of shaggy blond hair and a beard to match, and was dressed in green polo shirt and cotton slacks. While a bit underdressed, he wouldn't be out of place among the restaurant's clientele. Still, Phoenix doubted the man was here to enjoy a simple meal.

"I didn't kill him," the man repeated. "He...he was my friend. Sure, I was mad at him, but I didn't want him _dead_." To Phoenix, the short man looked nearly as shocked as Maya had when he'd found her outside the kitchen. From his experience as an attorney, he knew it was possible for a murderer to lie convincingly about his innocence, but something about the short man seemed genuine. Phoenix couldn't be sure he was innocent, but he did find himself inclined to believe it.

The short man slowly reached over, as if to remove the knife from the victim's back. "Don't touch it!" Phoenix said sharply.

"What?" the man asked, freezing in place.

"This is a crime scene," Phoenix said. "You've already been seen in here, so there's nothing we can do about that, but, believe me, you don't want your fingerprints on the murder weapon. If they're not already there, that is."

"They aren't," the man confirmed. "I haven't touched any of the knives in here. Just the door, I think. Maybe the sink, too."

Phoenix nodded. "Good. What's your name?"

"Albert. Albert Lee Cuisine. You can call me Al."

"Well, Al, I--" Phoenix was cut off by a commotion from the other side of the glass.

"Out of the way!" a gruff voice exclaimed. "Hey, watch it! Coming, through, pal! Police!"

Phoenix's jaw dropped. "How did they get here so fast? It hasn't even been five minutes yet!" He checked the time on his wristwatch. 7:38 PM. _That doesn't make any sense._

"What's happening?" Al Lee Cuisine asked.

"The police are here," Phoenix explained quickly. "They're going to arrest you and take you downtown for questioning. I won't be allowed to sit in on your interrogation, but I'll be there to see you the second you get out. Just tell them the truth, and don't let the detectives or the prosecutor bully you into admitting you're guilty if it isn't true. Got it?"

"Yeah," Al said. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Phoenix Wright, your attorney," he said as the kitchen door burst open and, quite expectedly, homicide detective Dick Gumshoe strode into the room. As usual, Gumshoe looked as if he'd been working for twenty-four hours straight, with his tie hanging halfway down his shirt, the tips of his collar pointing in different directions, and numerous coffee stains apparent all over his trench coat.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, surveying the situation. Noticing Phoenix for the first time, his eyes brightened. "Oh, why are you here, pal? I don't think you're allowed to view crime scenes before the police even show up. I'm pretty sure that's against the rules, yeah?"

"I was having dinner here tonight, Detective," Phoenix said, "when my assistant happened to witness the slaying of this man." He indicated the corpse on the floor. "Mr. Cuisine, who was present during the murder. has accepted my services as his defense attorney."

Gumshoe shrugged, displaying the casual air that seemed to be his defining characteristic. "That's a little suspicious, hiring an attorney before you've even been arrested, isn't it?" As he spoke, a squad of uniformed officers entered the kitchen, armed with evidence-gathering tools, and began working the scene. "I'm afraid we'll have to take you in, pal," said Gumshoe, looking at Al. "Johnson! Put this guy under arrest and read him his rights, okay?"

"Yes, sir," replied Officer Johnson, who extracted a pair of handcuffs and slapped them on Al Lee Cuisine, locking his hands behind his back and leading him out of the room "Here are your rights: You have no rights. You will cooperate with the official police investigation in every way and will be tried as soon as humanly possible, most likely within twenty-four hours or less. That is all."

As Johnson led Al out of the kitchen, probably to a waiting squad car, Phoenix nodded at Gumshoe, looking at the body. "He says he hasn't touched the knife. I'm kind of curious to know whose fingerprints are on it, if any. Let me know when the report's finished, okay?"

Gumshoe grinned guilelessly. "I don't know if I'll be able to do that, pal. Most prosecutors won't let me share information with the defendant's lawyer, you know?"

"Who's working this case?" Edgeworth might just be chivalrous enough to let him sneak a peek at the report. After all, Phoenix was going to see it in court, anyway.

Gumshoe's grin vanished. "You're not gonna like it."

Phoenix tried not to sigh. _How often __**do**__ I like it?_ Although he and Edgeworth had a grudging respect for one another, Phoenix couldn't particularly think of any prosecutors who had a particular fondness for him, save perhaps Lana Skye, but there was no way she'd be working this case, as she was---

_CRACK!_

Phoenix groaned in dismay. "Well, I guess that answers that question, Detective. I don't know whether to feel sorrier for you or for myself."

Gumshoe tried to straighten his tie, a futile effort. "I'm pretty sure it's you, pal. She never really likes me, but she's about ready to tear you in half after beating her last time."

"I honestly can't remember a time when she wasn't mad at me, though, can you?"

Gumshoe's reply was not to be heard, as Prosecutor Franziska von Karma threw open the door to the crime scene, far more violently than was strictly necessary. Wearing the selfsame overdone frippery that Phoenix had been both envying and criticizing earlier in the evening, the precocious prosecutor quickly marched into the kitchen before the door could slam back in her face, something Phoenix was sure he would have been unable to achieve had he been in a similar position. Not that he would have actually opened the door quite so forcefully, in any case.

"You idiot!" von Karma stormed up to Gumshoe, clearly intimidating the big detective, who was at least two and a half times her size. It was a scene that would have been funny had Phoenix not been exposed to it on at least twenty-seven previous occasions. "How could you let defense counsel see the crime scene before the prosecutor? Do you understand how foolish that is? He could have tampered with the evidence to favor his client!"

"Whoa!" Gumshoe dodged as von Karma's trademark leather whip danced around his ankles. "It wasn't my fault, pal! He was already here on a date!"

"You--" _SNAP!_ "--are such a--" _CRACK!_ "_**fool!!**_" _WHAP!_

Rather than protest that he would never tamper with evidence at a crime scene, and that he had definitely NOT come here on a date, Phoenix simply began edging around the counter towards the kitchen door, dashing back out into the hallway before von Karma could turn her malevolent attentions to him.

"And don't ever call me 'pal!'" _SNAP!_

_Why is it that all prosecutors seem to have some sort of crippling eccentricity or other?_ Phoenix wondered. Yet they never seemed to have any problems resulting from their odd behavior. Certainly judges were far less tolerant of eccentricities in defense attorneys.

"Nick!" Phoenix barely had time to register a smear of purple and black before his assistant clamped onto him.

"Are you all right, Maya?"

Maya buried her face into his shoulder, her eyes closed. "Oh, Nick, I saw him! The killer. I saw the police take him away."

"Maya, I've taken him as my client. I'll be defending him in court tomorrow." The trial hadn't technically been scheduled yet, but the Speedy Trial Act almost completely ensured that Al Lee Cuisine would show up before a judge by tomorrow afternoon, if not before. That didn't leave much time to prepare.

Confusion clouded Maya's eyes as she looked up at him. "How could you, Nick? He's the murderer! I saw him kill that man!" She dropped her arms, disengaging from him completely.

Phoenix took a deep breath before speaking. "I want you to keep an open mind, Maya. I've talked to him, and he doesn't seem like a killer."

"But Engarde--"

"I know that I've been fooled before," said Phoenix, "so I'll be going into this with my eyes open, okay? I'll make sure he's telling the truth, and if I think he's guilty, I'll act accordingly."

"I guess..."

"Maya, I need you to tell me what you saw."

Nodding, she leaned against the wall and pointed towards the semi-transparent glass. "I was just coming back from the ladies' room when I heard the two of them arguing from inside. I couldn't quite tell what they were saying, but it was something about food, I think--"

"Get away from my witness!"

Phoenix and Maya both stared as von Karma purposefully strode out of the kitchen towards them. Fluffing the lace cravat at her neck, von Karma fixed her smug gaze on her spiky-haired opponent. "Gumshoe told me that your foolish assistant saw the entire murder from out here. I'm afraid that I'll have to take her into my custody."

"What?" Phoenix said, his guts quivering with suppressed anxiety. "You can't take Maya away, she's my assistant. I'll need her for my investigation."

von Karma cracked her whip on the papered wall, leaving a huge gash mark behind. "You don't have any choice, Mr. Wright. I can't have you unduly influencing state's witnesses. I'm sorry, but I'll have to sequester Ms. Fey until after she testifies." Her sly smirk bore no indication whatsoever that she was in any way sorry. Quite the opposite, in fact. "Officers, take her away!"

Two of the uniformed policemen emerged from the crime scene, gently grabbed Maya by her shoulders, and began dragging the girl out of the building. "Nick!" she cried, struggling against their grip.

Phoenix gazed after her, but knew that the law was on von Karma's side. It was legal for the prosecution to keep its witnesses under wraps, and precedent had been set in numerous prior cases. "Maya, it's okay!" he called. "Just tell the truth, and everything will be all right!" It wasn't like they were dragging Maya off to be tortured or anything.

Almost involuntarily, Phoenix felt his eyes drawn to Franziska von Karma's whip. He'd felt that sting more than once. "Err, Ms. von Karma, I trust you won't be using any means of...physical coercion on my assistant?"

He could feel the disdain dripping from her words like thick syrup. "Of course, not, Mr. Wright. After all, she's a witness, not a criminal. We only want the truth from her, of course."

"That had better be true," he said, leaning in close to the young prosecutor's face. "If I find one single welt anywhere on her body, you and I are going to have problems. Got it?"

von Karma's eyes danced with mirth. "Really? You'll be checking _every inch_ of her body? There's nowhere you'll leave untouched?" Almost before she had finished verbally taunting him, she drew back her whip and prepared to strike. Fortunately, Phoenix saw the motion out of the corner of his eye and caught her wrist before she could bring it forward.

"I'm not joking," he said softly. "Leave her alone. Understand?"

Her eyes much wider than usual, von Karma closed her open mouth and swallowed, nodding almost imperceptibly. Her usual haughty nature swiftly returned, however. "As if I'd need to resort to violence to get a guilty verdict! A chef stabbed in the back and your client is the only person in the room? You don't have a prayer." She spun around, marching back towards where Gumshoe and the majority of the police were now dusting for prints, judging by the silhouettes Phoenix could see through the glass.

There wasn't much else he could do here. Franziska von Karma and the police would never let him check out the crime scene while their preliminary investigation was still underway, and with Maya already in police custody, he wasn't likely to be able to speak to her, either. Remembering to pay his check before leaving the restaurant, Phoenix hopped on the Number Three train and headed downtown towards the police station.

He grumbled silently to himself as he rode the subway southward. Were he a high-paid prosecutor, he would naturally be able to afford his own car and drive to the police station personally. While it wouldn't necessarily be faster than taking public transportation, it would be far more private. Of course, Phoenix didn't even have a driver's license, so he was ill-equipped to sit behind the wheel even if he owned an automobile. Then again, he could probably just catch rides in police cars.

Phoenix was so busy imagining having Gumshoe as his personal chauffeur that he almost missed his stop. Shaking his head out reverie, he barely squeezed out of the train doors before they closed completely. Subway stations were always hot, but the oppressive, dank warmth continued well past the steps and into the street itself. The Metro City police station was usually busy at all hours of the day, so Phoenix was not alone going into the building, and several people were exiting at the same time. The lawyer found himself somewhat thankful that the Blue Badger was no longer manning his post in front of the building, as even though Gumshoe had created the police department's mascot, Phoenix found the Badger quite creepy.

After reporting to the detention center, Phoenix was told that Al Lee Cuisine was still in questioning, and that he would not be able to speak to his client until later. He retreated to the lounge upstairs and poured himself a cup of coffee, forgetting that Gumshoe and Edgeworth had both warned him never to drink police station coffee. Their warning was well-intentioned, as Phoenix was forced to admit to himself that it was quite possibly the worst coffee he'd ever encountered in his life.

Why weren't defense attorneys allowed to see their clients during interrogation? It seemed more than a little unfair that prosecutors were able to sit in during these initial interviews but the suspect's own attorneys were not. It seemed like someone should have been present to protect the accused's rights. Still, as Officer Johnson had reminded Phoenix less than an hour earlier, suspects didn't really have any rights, did they?

Since he had nothing else of pressing importance to do for a while, Phoenix leaned back in one of the vinyl-cushioned chairs and began going over the details of the case in his mind. If Al wasn't the murderer, what had happened? Maya seemed to be fully convinced he was guilty, and that seemed to indicate that no one else was in the room at the time of death. But if so, how could Al not be guilty?

Maya didn't have a full view of the kitchen, it was true, but Al certainly did, and the police's prime suspect hadn't claimed anyone else was in the kitchen that evening. If there had been, it was reasonable to expect he would have mentioned it already. Phoenix was forced to admit that he didn't have enough information to form a reasonable theory right now. He'd have to talk to his client, and maybe even see the police report before he could form any sort of conclusion.

Fortunately, the desk sergeant chose almost that exact moment to inform Phoenix that his client was now available for consultation. Before heading downstairs, the young attorney took care to pour out the remainder of his offensive beverage and rinse his out his mouth thoroughly with water.

He was still trying to get rid of the taste when he sat down across from his client. "How did the questioning go, Mr. Cuisine?"

Al looked quite a bit more tired than he had earlier in the evening. Phoenix was sure that the dark circles that surrounded Al's eyes hadn't been there when he'd met him in the restaurant, although there didn't seem to be any overt signs of physical abuse. "I told them what happened, but they didn't seem very happy with what I was saying."

_Hm. I doubt anything short of a signed confession would make them happy._ Crossing his legs, Phoenix leveled his gaze on his client. "I think you'd better tell me what happened in there. Don't leave anything out that could be useful."

"Okay. Whisk Hossenfeffer--that's the victim--and I are both chefs, and we used to be partners in a catering business. About a year ago, he took a whole bunch of my recipes and left. I didn't find out that he was the head chef of _L'Vendre Trop Cher_ until a few weeks ago."

"_L'Vendre Trop Cher_?" Phoenix repeated.

"That would be the restaurant we were both in this evening."

"Oh, right." Embarrassed, Phoenix shook his head. "Wait a minute. Didn't you have backup copies of your recipes somewhere? Or couldn't you recreate them from memory?"

Al Lee Cuisine shrugged. "Well, yes, but it wasn't really about being able to recreate the dishes. It was more about the intellectual ownership, to tell you the truth. I came up with almost all of those ideas, and I didn't want people to find them anywhere else."

"Did you ever publish a cookbook with them, or register some of the recipes with the Copyright Office?"

"No," said Al, "I didn't think I needed to."

"Well," Phoenix said, "I'm not a copyright lawyer, but if you don't have anything proving that you created the recipes, it'll be hard to establish your ownership of them. Luckily, that's not what I need to prove. Tell me what happened tonight. I know you two were fighting; I could gather that much from my own ears, and from what Maya said. What happened after that?"

Al scratched his beard absently. "Not much. Well, you know what I mean. We argued, and after a bit it came to blows, then I felt Hossenfeffer stiffen up-- I'm guessing that's when he was stabbed --and then he collapsed. I heard your assistant scream, and that was it until you arrived."

"Was anyone else in the kitchen with you?"

"No one," he said. "Hossenfeffer sent the rest of the cooking staff out when I got there. I'm betting it's because he didn't want them to know he'd stolen all his recipes. Or maybe he just didn't want anyone to know he used to be a caterer, I'm not sure."

"Can you think of anyone else with a grudge against Mr. Hossenfeffer? Anyone else with a motive to kill him?"

Al Lee Cuisine shook his head. "I hadn't seen him in nearly a year." Suddenly his eyes widened. "I didn't kill Mr. Hossenfeffer; I don't know who did! Please, Mr. Wright, you've got to help me!"

Phoenix tried to appear confident. "I'll do what I can." _Although I don't really know how much that will be._

**NEXT TIME:** Phoenix faces off against Franziska von Karma as the trial of Al Lee Cuisine begins!


	2. Court,  Day One

Phoenix rubbed his eyes as the alarm hammered incessantly into his brain. He pounded the snooze button, only to have the exact same sound jab into his eardrums again mere minutes later. What day was it? What time was it? Did he have a job? Was it worth getting up for?

It was a rare thought that depressed Phoenix more than the answers to these questions, but, just as every other day, he soldiered through the wave of morning melancholy and sat up, eyes still shut. Yawning, he ran his hands through his currently tragically unspiked hair and forced himself to stand.

After showering, Phoenix trudged through his twenty-minute hairstyling regimen and pulled on his regular lawyering suit, but paused for reflection as he contemplated his selection of ties. He sorted through them one by one. Solid red? No. Red with pinstripes? No. Red with pinstripes in the opposite direction? No. Red with gold outlines? No. Hello -- what was this?

"Black?" he said incredulously, pulling the strangely-hued tie from the rack. _I don't remember owning a black tie._ His lips creased in thought, he peered penetratingly at the solidly dark object. _Maybe Mom gave it to me last Christmas? _

Recalling that he had been complaining about the lack of variety in his neck-based attire only the evening previous, Phoenix made a judgement call and tucked the midnight fashion accessory underneath his collar, tied it in a single Windsor knot (because the double Windsor wasted a great deal of both time and tie), and headed to the kitchen. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Phoenix barely had time to notice that it was three hundred times better than the swill he'd had the police station last night before he caught sight of the oven clock.

"I'm late!" He pounded down the remainder of his coffee, steadfastly ignoring the third-degree burns it was giving his esophagus, and dashed out the door. Seconds, later, Phoenix re-entered the apartment, grabbed his briefcase, and left again. After about another two minutes, Phoenix returned yet again, snatched his keys from the counter, and exited once more. After a few more seconds, he dashed back upstairs and locked the door before finally leaving his building.

His apartment may not have been in the best part of town, but at least it was close to a subway station. It was less than forty yards from the front door to the subterranean stairway, and Phoenix was on the train headed southwest in minutes. Hoping to get a jump on his stop, he stood in front of the sliding doors, impatiently tapping his foot. As the train finally shuddered to a halt, however, he lost his footing, losing any advantage his position might have awarded him.

Knocking past a police officer and two court clerks as he bounded through the doors, Phoenix took a quick second to check his watch. _Five till nine already? I'll never make it!_ Trying to keep up appearances, he power-walked to the elevator, barely sticking his arm in the door before the it could close. Luckily, the short man already in the elevator just happened to be going to the same floor as he was.

Was there something familiar about this man? His nearly-receded hairline and square glasses brought something to Phoenix's mind, but he couldn't tell what it was. Was he another attorney? Possibly someone he'd faced in court before? Shrugging inwardly, Phoenix figured that it didn't matter. If the small man was someone important, then he would have remembered.

Nick darted forward the second the doors slid open, forgetting the possibility that someone might be waiting outside of them. This proved to be the case, and as Phoenix plowed into the innocent bystander, his briefcase was sent flying down the corridor, clattering as it hit the tiled floor and sliding about forty feet away. A delivery boy carrying a medium-sized package promptly stepped on it and fell down, kicking the case another twenty feet in the wrong direction.

"Watch out!" Phoenix called, several seconds after the fact.

The victim of his near-tackle coughed accusingly, catching Phoenix's attention at last. Phoenix drew his eyes slowly upward, taking in the white lace cuffs, burgundy jacket, and frilly lace cravat. Most noticeable of all, however, was the moist brown stain that covered at least a bit of every part of the other man's attire. Strangely, the stain had spread out so that it resembled nothing so much as a diagonally-aligned exclamation point, which seemed to indicate that it missed a small part of the man's lower shirt. Of course, Phoenix didn't really even need to check the man's face to know that it was --

"Edgeworth!" The prosecuting attorney looked upon Phoenix with undisguised fury, still holding the mostly-empty tea cup in his left hand, a packet of ruined legal documents in his right. "I'm so sorry," said Phoenix desperately, "I---" he checked his watch. "Oh, no, I'm going to be late!" Without even giving his rival a third look, Phoenix leapt forward to retrieve his briefcase, struggled to avoid slipping on the linoleum, and eventually, failed. Hopping up, Phoenix ran in place for an instant before finally making headway in the correct direction.

He finally made it to Defendant Lobby #3 with almost two minutes to spare. Panting, Phoenix caught sight of his client pacing between the two couches in the room's far corner. Al Lee Cuisine noticed his exhausted lawyer stumbling around the tables and rushed over to offer aid, followed by the stern gaze of the police officers accompanying him to the courtroom.

"Mr. Wright?" Al asked, grasping Phoenix's shoulder in order to steady him, although Al was so short, what he ended up grabbing was nearer Phoenix's elbow.

"8:58!" Phoenix gasped, thrusting his fist in front of Al's face, an action which might have been taken as a punch if viewed from the wrong angle. "I...made it!"

Al Lee Cuisine looked at him quizzically. "Are you okay?"

"Time...to go...inside!" Phoenix huffed. Unfortunately, the combination of Phoenix's labored motions, heavy breathing, and bulging eyes caused Al to be somewhat disgusted by his attorney, and the chef kept his distance as the two approached the courtroom. Upon further reflection, Phoenix realized this wasn't as bad of a situation as it seemed, as with his current physical state, there was no way he could have whispered instructions to his client.

"Hey! Hold on a second, pal!"

Phoenix had no problems complying with the instruction. Still gasping like a fish, the young attorney turned around to discover, as he had expected, Detective Gumshoe. The bulky policeman was grinning madly, as he often did, and brandished a manilla folder, which he quickly offered to Phoenix.

"Coroner's report," he said. "Took me a while, but I finally got it to you. Don't tell Prosecutor von Karma, okay?"

"Thanks," Phoenix said, tucking the report into his briefcase. He was finally starting to regain his breath. "Good luck in there."

Gumshoe smiled and straightened his tie. "Hey, I'm not the one that needs help, pal. Do your best, okay?" Then, the detective's eyes focused somewhere below Phoenix's chin. "Hey, what's up with the power tie? Trying to look good for the ladies?"

_What? It's just a black tie._ Without a good answer in mind, Phoenix shrugged. "Just wanted a change." With that, Phoenix let Gumshoe lead him and Al into Courtroom #3. Although court was not yet officially in session, Phoenix felt the particular aura that always surrounded a trial. The galleries were nearly full, echoing with muted conversation, something which surprised Phoenix a bit. Then again, the victim in this case had been the chef of a fairly popular and high-class restaurant. It wasn't that unusual to see a decent amount of curiosity. Phoenix left Al Lee Cuisine at the defendant's chair and moved to his usual place on the judge's left.

Prosecutor von Karma was sorting through papers in her own corner of the courtroom, pointedly ignoring him. This was fine with Phoenix, as in his estimation, the less attention any of the von Karmas paid him, the better. Two could play at that game, he decided, and opening his briefcase, he started purposefully studying the coroner's report, totally blanking Franziska von Karma from his mind.

_Whisk Hossenfeffer, age 38. Cause of death: Loss of blood due to a single stab wound in the back. Knife was around nine inches long but penetrated only five, enough to pierce the victim's heart. Time of death was approximately 7:34 PM on November 17th._ Phoenix scratched his head. He didn't see any particularly useful clues in the report. Hopefully, something would come up during the trial to put this information into context.

"I don't know who you're trying to impress," whispered a raw, harsh voice from his right, "but I hope you don't think it will work."

"Huh?" Phoenix said, looking up from his briefs.

Prosecutor von Karma was glaring up at him from the right. Despite the differences in their heights, however, it appeared as if she were glaring _down _at him. "I'm not some rookie to be fooled by your amateurish psychological tricks. It will have no effect on today's trial."

"What won't?" Phoenix wondered aloud, completely clueless.

She poked him sharply in the chest. "...that _**tie**_!" Just for emphasis, von Karma poked him again. "I won't be intimidated so easily, Mr. Wright!" Cheeks flushed, she turned away and, storming back to her station, cracked her whip once against the floor.

_At least she didn't hit me. That's something._ Despite the fact that their personalities were nearly polar opposites, seeing von Karma in Maya's usual position brought to mind the fact that his young assistant wouldn't be accompanying him today. It wasn't as if Phoenix had never tried a case without Maya's help, but he couldn't help feeling a bit low. Not only would he be bereft of Maya's assistance, but Phoenix would have to actively discredit her on the witness stand if he wanted to help his client.

The murmurs and whispers went silent as the judge entered the chamber. Tall and powerful, the ancient adjudicator exuded authority as he ascended the steps to the bench. Despite being in his late sixties, the black-robed figure was also powerfully built and in excellent shape, possibly from the consistent aquatic training he'd underwent with former police chief Damon Gant (although this had understandably dropped off as of late).

Phoenix scratched his head. _Seriously, is there only one judge in the entire city? I've never defended a client in front of anyone else._

Banging his gavel, the judge brought the room to order. "Metro City District Court is now in session for the trial of Albert Lee Cuisine."

"The defense is ready, Your Honor," said Phoenix, well aware of the standard response by now.

Prosecutor von Karma smirked and curtsied sardonically for the court. "The prosecution is ready, Your Honor." Phoenix eyed her warily. _I wonder what she's got up her sleeve._

Silently, the judge nodded, then paused for a few seconds, his eyes closed. "Very well. Your opening arguments?"

Bowing with a flourish, von Karma began. "Your Honor. There can be no doubt that the defendant is guilty. Not only did he have a well-established grudge against the victim, but the simple fact is that he was the only person in the room at the time of the murder. The evidence, along with the prosecution's key witness, will easily show why Mr. Cuisine should be convicted of this brutal crime."

As she finished, Phoenix began scratching his chin. She had a point. To an outsider looking at the facts of the case, Al looked very, very guilty. Even Maya was convinced he had done it, and she was generally able to keep an open mind regarding his clients. Still, he had to find some hole in the case against Al. There didn't seem to be anything in the autopsy report, though, and... wait a second. Why was everyone staring at him?

"Your opening statement, Mr. Wright?"

Phoenix looked blankly at the judge, confused. _Opening statement? You mean I actually get to make one this time?_ He struggled to gather his thoughts and come up with someone coherent to say. _I've gotta say something intelligent. Something profound. Something that will convince the court to keep an open mind in the face of overpoweringly convincing evidence. Something like... _"Umm, my client is.. not guilty."

_That wasn't it._

Not surprisingly, the judge was unimpressed. "Quite..concise, Mr. Wright. Miss von Karma, you may present your case."

She pointed dramatically at the witness stand. "For its first witness, the prosecution calls Detective Dick Gumshoe!"

Within moments, Gumshoe had taken the stand, looking uncomfortable as always. Still, while the big policeman generally appeared uneasy on the stand, he seemed even more on edge when around Franziska von Karma. Still, Phoenix knew that Gumshoe would likely make it through his testimony, even if he stumbled over a few words here and there.

"Witness!" von Karma cracked her whip. "State your name and occupation."

"Dick Gumshoe," Gumshoe said. "I'm a detective with the Metro City Police Department."

_Why does every witness have to state his name and occupation before testifying? _ Phoenix wondered._ She just introduced him as "Detective Dick Gumshoe." That really took care of both counts right there._

"Detective," von Karma said. "Tell the court the results of your investigation. Now!"

"Sure!" Gumshoe said affably, as though she had asked him to pass the ketchup. "The suspect entered the kitchen around 7:25 PM, where he and the victim got into an altercation. They began fighting soon after, and banged into several of the kitchen fixtures, which was what the restaurant patrons heard around that time. The victim was stabbed just after 7:30. No one other than the victim and the accused were in the kitchen at that time." Gumshoe fiddled around in one of his many pockets. "Oh, here's the autopsy report. It lays the specifics out." He handed the judge a folder just like the one he'd given Phoenix earlier.

"Oh!" said the judge, taking it. "Thank you."

_Way to go, Gumshoe. You got me the coroner's report a full five minutes before presenting it in court._ After being handed a second copy of the report, Phoenix pretended to study it intently, although he already knew what it said.

"The victim, Mr. Whisk Hossenfeffer, was stabbed with this knife," Gumshoe continued, holding up a sealed plastic bag. The bag contained the very knife Phoenix had seen in the embedded in Hossenfeffer's body the night previous. "It was one of the knives regularly used in the kitchen."

Prosecutor von Karma nodded. "The prosecution submits the knife as People's Exhibit A."

Phoenix jotted down the specifics of the knife in his notes as Gumshoe went on with his testimony. "The police arrived on the scene soon after the murder, and I arrested Mr. Cuisine, who had already hired Mr. Wright as his lawyer. That's about it."

"Thank you, Detective." No doubt von Karma was well pleased with Gumshoe's performance so far. Phoenix couldn't sense any particular flaws in his testimony, although he was sure something would pop up.

The judge, however, looked completely convinced already. "Well," he said, eyes wide with shock, "that certainly was a solid testimony! I don't know if I've ever seen such an open-and-shut case in all my years on the bench." After this, he went silent, possibly expecting a response of some kind.

Phoenix stifled a groan. "Your Honor."

The judge blinked. "Yes?"

"If you don't mind..."

"Oh, of course! That new tie is quite impressive. An excellent choice."

Phoenix massaged his forehead, trying to forestall the inevitable headache. "No, sir, I was referring to the cross-examination..?"

The judge nodded as if nothing was amiss. "You may cross-examine, Mr. Wright."

Phoenix steeled his gaze, staring across the courtroom into Franziska von Karma's eyes, As always, this cross-examination would be a test of wills between the two opposing attorneys. Wrenching his eyes away from the prosecutor, he turned his attention to Gumshoe, struggling to come up with a question. "Detective, you said that the victim and my client made a lot of noise fighting before the crime took place. Isn't it possible that someone else was in the kitchen during that period?"

Gumshoe blinked, smiling guilelessly. "Sure, it's possible, pal, but Mr. Cuisine didn't tell us anything like that. You'd think he would have brought it up, right?"

Phoenix grinned nervously. _Yeah, that does make sense._ He took his eyes away from Gumshoe for a second. Von Karma hadn't spoken up, so she obviously thought that his line of questioning wasn't going anywhere. He'd better approach this from another angle. Thinking back to the last night, he tried to find any inconsistencies. Maybe the knife was the answer?

"About the murder weapon," he began, remembering something Al Lee Cuisine had told him, "were the defendant's fingerprints found on it?"

Gumshoe flinched. "No, they weren't."

"**OBJECTION!!**" von Karma shouted. "Mr. Cuisine could easily have been wearing gloves when he wielded the knife in question. That would explain the lack of fingerprints."

Phoenix scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I don't remember him wearing gloves. In fact, he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, so he couldn't have held a knife with his sleeve, either. Detective Gumshoe, did you find any gloves anywhere near the scene of the crime?"

Gumshoe shook his head. "No, pal, we didn't."

"Your Honor," von Karma protested, "the defense is clearly grasping at straws! Mr. Cuisine had the opportunity to wipe the knife's handle clean with any number of kitchen towels or rags immediately after the murder, before the police arrived."

_I don't remember him having all that much time_, Phoenix thought, which set off another alarm bell in his brain. Before pursuing that, though, he needed to follow this line of questioning to its conclusion. But how to phrase the question? "Detective, were there _any_ fingerprints found on the knife?"

The policeman's face darkened. _I think I've hit it, here._ "Yeah," Gumshoe said. "There were six or seven sets of prints on the knife, all together."

Phoenix smirked in triumph. "Six or seven sets of prints? But if my client had wiped the knife clean, _there wouldn't be any fingerprints on it at all!_ This strongly indicates that Mr. Cuisine _didn't even touch the murder weapon!_" Before this realization could fully hit the court, Phoenix followed up with his next query. "Detective, I remember the police arriving at _L'Vendre Trop Cher _very shortly after the crime took place. A matter of minutes, if I recall correctly."

Gumshoe shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's your tax dollars at work, right?"

"How were you alerted to the situation?"

"Well," said Gumshoe, "we got a call at the station at 7:25 informing us of the murder. The caller refused to identify him- or herself, but we left immediately, seeing as how a murder had been reported. Turned out the tipster was on the level."

"The voice was muffled?" Phoenix said, idly flipping through his papers.

"Yeah, I guess so," Gumshoe answered. "I didn't take it myself, but apparently it was very hard to hear the caller and there was a lot of static. Later, we tried to do a trace on the number, but didn't have any luck."

"That's interesting," Phoenix said, his eye catching something on the coroner's report. "because I -- wait. You said the call came in at 7:25 PM? Are you sure about that?"

"Yup, 7:25. We've got it documented if you can't take my word for it."

"That _is_ somewhat hard to believe," Phoenix said, grabbing the report and tapping it lightly. "The coroner's report cites the time of death as 7:34 PM. If what you say is correct, the crime was reported _nine minutes before the murder took place!_"

Now the crowd was getting into it, murmuring endlessly. Prosecutor von Karma stumbled back, as if Phoenix had physically punched her rather than simply punching a hole in her case.

"Order!" the judge shouted, banging his gavel. "If what Mr. Wright alleges is true, these are some serious deficiencies in the state's case. Miss von Karma, do you have any response to the defense's claims?"

After taking a moment to regain her composure, von Karma straightened, snapped her whip against the judge's bench, and said, "Of course, Your Honor! As shoddy as the police department's foolish investigation may have been -- " and with this she aimed the sharp sting of her weapon at Detective Gumshoe, " -- it is not the only weapon in the prosecution's arsenal. We have a decisive witness who saw the crime occur. Her testimony will remove all doubt. The state calls Miss Maya Fey to the stand!" With this, she pointed her finger brazenly at Phoenix, without masking the derision in her face.

And there it was. He'd poked some serious holes in Gumshoe's testimony, but all in all, it was upon Maya's account that von Karma's case rested. Now, if Phoenix wanted to save Al from the murder rap, he'd have to face down his own assistant. No doubt von Karma was secretly singing with the sheer irony of the situation.

As Gumshoe walked shame-facedly back up to the gallery, the bailiff escorted Maya to the witness stand. She didn't look any worse for wear, and in fact, didn't appear to have suffered any type of physical damage at all. Still, Phoenix hoped that he wouldn't have to make good on his offer to strip-search Maya for signs of abuse. Or did he?

_That isn't important right now. I've got to focus on the task at hand._ Fighting the flush creeping up his cheeks, Phoenix fixed his steely stare on von Karma as she introduced her witness to the court.

"Witness!" she said haughtily, perhaps even more so than usual. "Name and occupation. _**Now**_"

Maya smiled pleasantly. "But you know my name, Franziska! We've met before. You even prosecuted me for murder once, remember?"

"Name and occupation," von Karma repeated through clenched teeth.

"But you've already introduced me---"

_**WHIP.**_ "Name!" _**SNAP.**_ "And!" _**CRACK.**_ "Occupation!"

"Oh, all right," Maya said reluctantly, clasping her hands. "My name's Maya Fey, and I'm a spiritual medium, and a paralegal!"

It took von Karma a minute to regain her composure. The same was true in Phoenix's case, although his recovery was from a bout of repressed laughter rather than uncontrolled temper. _That's the way to show her, Maya._

"Now," said the prosecutor, straightening her whip, "please tell the court what you witnessed while you were on your date."

"**OBJECTION!!**" Phoenix hollered across the courtroom. "We were _**not**_ on a _**date**_!!!" He pounded his fists on the table for emphasis. Looking across the courtroom, he saw that von Karma looked a bit shocked at his outburst, Maya seemed somewhat depressed, Al Lee Cuisine was completely confused, and the judge was staring at him with a somber expression.

"Most people would not find the concept of being on a date embarrassing in and of itself," the judge said solemly. "Still, we must respect the facts of this case." He waved at the court reporter. "Strike the comment about Mr. Wright and Miss Fey being on a date from the record."

The entire courtroom fell embarrassingly silent. Phoenix tried to cast a telepathic apology for his outburst to Maya, but felt that neither his psychic abilities nor hers were quite up to the task. When no one said anything for a prolonged period, the judge instructed Maya to continue.

Maya nodded, and began her testimony. "I went to_ L'Vendre Trop Cher _that evening with Nick. I had a T-bone steak and some twice-baked potato. Around 7:15, I went to the ladies' room. When I came back, I noticed two people fighting in the kitchen. They were really into it, grappling with one another and throwing themselves into the tables and counters! After a little bit, one of the men stabbed the other! He fell down with a knife sticking out of his back."

The judge nodded as she finished. "I see. This does seem fairly decisive. Mr. Wright, if there are no further clarifications about the status of your relationship with Miss Fey, then you may commence the cross-examination."

Phoenix flinched. "Um, no, Your Honor." Maya was looking at him expectantly, but her expression was tinged with apprehension, also. Could he tear her apart in front of all these people? Phoenix realized that he didn't really have much of an idea where to begin the cross-examination, either. He started filtering through her testimony, latching on to any statement that caught his mind.

"Maya," he said, finally, "what were you doing in the ladies' room?" _Oops. I don't think that was the right question to ask._

His thought was quickly proven accurate, as Maya's expression quickly turned shocked, a flush creeping up her cheeks. "Nick?! How could you ask me _that_?"

Von Karma sneered. "What do you _ think _ she was doing in there, fool?"

The judge supplied her an answer. "I would assume she was using the toilet."

Phoenix laughed, "Don't be silly! Girls don't have to _go to the toilet!_" For the second time in ten minutes, Phoenix caused the entire courtroom to go dead quiet. No one appeared to have any idea how to even react to the defense counsel's statement.

Prosecutor von Karma was the first to break the silence. "What are you, an idiot?"

To avoid further shame, Phoenix barged ahead with the cross-examination. "Maya, I saw the glass in _L'Vendre Trop Cher,_ and it wasn't completely clear. How can you be sure you saw the defendant through the frosted glass?"

"Well," Maya said, "I wasn't able to see his face, but one of the men I saw was very tall, and the other one was very short. The tall man was the one who died."

_That seems reasonable, or reasonable enough for the prosecution's case, anyway._ _What else is there? I thought there was something that didn't quite fit in there..._ "Maya, you said the two men were grappling, right? As in wrestling?"

Maya shook her head. "Not exactly. The short one tried to punch the tall one, but the tall one grabbed his hand and held on to it. Then, the tall one tried the same thing, and the short one grabbed _his_ hand and wouldn't let go!'

"So," said Phoenix, trying to puzzle out the sequence of events, "when Mr. Hossenfeffer was stabbed, essentially, he was holding on to both of Mr. Cuisine's hands, is that correct?"

Maya looked as if she was concentrating, trying hard to remember. "Well, yes, that's true, but -- wait a minute! Nick, do you know what that means?"

Phoenix was already pointing his finger at the rest of the court, ready to prove his point. "If both of his hands were being held, that means that he couldn't have stabbed the victim! Maya, come help me with this." Standing in front of the bench, he directed Maya to assume a similar position to the one Al Lee Cuisine and Whisk Hossenfeffer had been in the night of the murder, with Phoenix himself playing Cuisine. He and Maya each had their hands locked together tightly.

"Here's what doesn't add up," Phoenix said. "In this position, it would be very difficult for the defendant to grab a knife and stab the victim." He demonstrated with the hand Maya was gripping. "Not impossible, true, but still incredibly hard. If he'd let go of Mr. Hossenfeffer's hand, even for an instant, he would have left himself open to attack." He released Maya's right hand with his left, as if to grab something, but Maya quickly mock-punched him, a little harder than was strictly necessary. "Even if Mr. Cuisine had found the opportunity to grab the murder weapon," he said, pretending to snatch a knife from a imaginary counter, "_it would be nearly impossible to stab the victim in the back! _Mr. Cuisine was facing Whisk Hossenfeffer at the time of his death. If my client were the killer, _he would have had to stab the victim head-on!_"

He'd set the crowd off again. In the commotion, Phoenix caught his assistant gazing at him with the familiar admiration in her eyes. "You did it again, Nick!"

Phoenix shook his head slowly. "I don't think it'll be this easy. It generally never is."

True to form, the judge did not offer up a "not guilty" ruling after restoring order to the courtroom. "Far from ensuring Mr. Cuisine's guilt, today's trial has only raised more questions. Why are the defendant's fingerprints not on the knife, and how or why did he stab the victim in the back if he was facing him? While some serious doubt has been cast on the prosecution's case, I do not feel as if Mr. Cuisine's innocence has been proven conclusively. To that end, I will give both the prosecution and defense another day to conduct investigations. My hope is that by tomorrow, we will have a clearer picture of what happened in _L'Vendre Trop Cher _last night."

With this, the elderly justice hit his gavel one final time, and court was adjourned. Phoenix fended off von Karma's nasty glares as he gathered up his briefs. While he'd poked holes in the state's evidence, the simple truth was, he had no idea what had actually occurred the night of the murder. Al Lee Cuisine had been there himself and seemed to have no clue! Phoenix sighed, hoping at least a small break would come his way this afternoon.

"Cheer up, Nick!" Maya said gleefully. "Things could be worse."

"Oh, yeah?" Phoenix said. "How's that?"

"You could be doing this without me. Think about it."

Nick did, though he kept his conclusions to himself.

"Oh, and what's with the tie? It makes you look...powerful."


End file.
